


A Payment of Flesh

by TrashQueens



Series: Trade [2]
Category: Z Nation (TV)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Underage Drinking, Voyeurism, again very dub con, heavy dub con, pre operation bite mark, quid pro quo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-24 17:27:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17708555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrashQueens/pseuds/TrashQueens
Summary: This takes place after 10k's father dies, when he is one his own before finding Operation Bite Mark. Running low on supplies, Tommy encounters a man in an abandoned house who offers to share his supplies...for a price.





	A Payment of Flesh

**Author's Note:**

> Trash Queen Red here with the second installment of the Trade series, though it can be read as a standalone. 
> 
> If you haven't read the tags yet, please not it is extremely dub con. So if you aren't into that kind of thing, back out now. ;)

 After his father was gone, it was an easy decision to leave the nature preserve. The forest was mostly overrun with z's and there wasn't much in the way of provisions beyond what the lake could provide. 

The truck had gotten him into town and provided a safe place to sleep for a few days, but the gas didn't last very far and the town was all but picked clean by the time Tommy got to it. The grocery store yielded little more than some Pop-Tarts and a bag of extra spicy beef jerky, but it was better than nothing. 

The sporting goods store had been stripped to the walls but he managed to find a piece of football armor to cover his left shoulder and a holster for his rifle. Not a single bullet or hunting knife was left in the place and even the golf clubs were gone, weapons were more valuable than gold in the apocalypse.

He used his last ten bullets on a group of z's that caught him coming out of the sporting goods store, and had to finish off the last two with his dad's hunting knife. The resulting quiet left behind reminded Tommy that he was utterly alone in the world, save for zombies that only wanted to kill him.

It was that night, stretched out across the bench seat of the truck, Tommy vowed to himself and the memory of his father to kill ten thousand z's. The silence their mercy would leave behind may not bring peace to Tommy's mind, but it would help the ache in his heart.

~~~

When morning came Tommy woke knowing two things; if he was ever going to reach his goal, he needed to find more bullets, and he couldn't stay in this town.

Growing up off the grid, Tommy hadn't seen much of the world, but he had a good sense of direction and figured south was going to be his best bet. Cities were likely to have more supplies and he wasn't going to get far without some essentials. The road was pretty much deserted, which was a good thing considering the truck had run out of gas a few miles out of town. 

Counting the twelve from the day before, Tommy managed to take out another seven z's by the time he reached the next town. But the sun was just starting to set and he needed to find shelter soon, killing z's without a gun was hard enough, fighting them in the dark without one was just suicide.

He managed to find a house with an unlocked door, somewhere that would be safe enough to wait out the dark, maybe they even had a bed in one of the rooms. 

What he didn't expect to find was a man already inside. Not the home's original occupant, but someone alone on the road just like him. He was middle aged, large and broad with greying beard and tanned face. The man aimed his gun at Tommy as soon as he came in and Tommy held up his hands in surrender. 

"I'm sorry, I was just looking for a place to spend the night. I...I'm not armed except for my knife. I can leave though...please don't shoot me, sir."

The man chuckled and put down his gun, motioning for Tommy to step into the living room. "It's alright, kid, you can stay here tonight if you want. Truth is you're the first human face I've seen in a week."

Tentatively, Tommy sat down on the lumpy old sofa, setting his bag of supplies next to it and trying not to stare at the man's spread on the coffee table. He must have looted a fully stocked gun shop, he had stacks of bullet boxes and a whole arsenal of handguns.

"Hey, I said you could stay here, not rob me in my sleep," the man said with a serious expression.

"No, I...I wasn't going to rob you. I'm out of bullets for my rifle though," Tommy looked down at his own bag. "Would you be willing to trade? I have some jerky, or some duct tape, a whole roll of it."

"A trade? Yeah, I could do a trade, but I'm not interested in jerky or duct tape," the man replied with a look that made Tommy feel strange, like the man could see under his skin.

"Um...I've got some Pop Tarts, and a couple screwdrivers," Tommy said as he dug through his bag. "I got a box of Band-Aids and a flashlight with batteries in it."

"I don't want anything in your bag, boy."

"I don't think my clothes would fit you, sir, and they're the only ones I have."

That response earned him another chuckle. "What's your name, boy?"

"Tommy." Somehow, it felt indecent telling this man his name, like he was exposing a deep secret.

"Tommy, eh? You ever trade in flesh before, Tommy?"

His blank expression said everything.

"Yeah, I thought not," the man said as he looked Tommy over from head to toe. "Alright, tell you what, I'll trade you a box of bullets if you give me a little show."

What on earth did that mean? Tommy remained silent because he had no idea what the man was asking.

"You're an innocent one, aren't you? Didn’t think there were any like you left," the man said with a dark grin. "Look, you ever jerk off? You know, rub one out? You have? Okay, good, rub one out in front of me here and you can have a box of bullets for that rifle."

Tommy's mouth went dry. Was this man messing with him? Surely, he didn't mean the same thing Tommy was thinking. Why would he even want to watch that?"

"I don't...you want me to..."

"Entertainment ain't what it used to be, kid. Gotta take it where you find it. And watching you work your crank is gonna be the closest I'll get to going to the movies for a good long while," the man explained with a shrug, completely unashamed. "Here, I'll even throw in a couple protein bars."

That sealed the deal. Tommy needed something to eat other than toaster pastries and jerky so spicy it made his stomach hurt. That half dozen Cliff bars would last him for days, and the box of bullets would clear a path to the next town. It would be stupid to turn it down, not when he needed them both so badly. 

"Ok, I'll do it," he agreed, his heart hammering in his chest.

"Yeah, good boy," the man grinned triumphantly. He set the box of bullets and protein bars on the edge of the table, close enough for Tommy to reach out and take, before sitting back on the couch and looking at him expectantly. 

"Right now?" Tommy asked, though he already knew the answer. Looking down, he slowly undid his belt and opened his cargo pants, his fingers feeling clumsy and numb. He'd done this plenty, what teenager hadn't? But it had always been alone, away from prying eyes, he'd never dreamed he would do this in front of another person. Especially not a man old enough to be his father. 

"Come on, let me see what you're working with," the man said eagerly and it made Tommy want to retch.

He squeezed his eyes closed and pulled himself free, losing his nerve for a moment and simply holding his soft cock in his hand.

"Well, ain't that pretty? Go on, get to work."

Wincing like he had been struck, Tommy began to stroke himself, keeping his eyes closed as he tried to imagine he was anywhere else. He pictured his room in the cabin, the last place he had touched himself, just a few days before Day One. There had been a pretty girl camping with her family, they hadn't spoken, but she had smiled at him a couple times on the banks of the lake. Tommy had thought about what it would have been like to kiss her while he had touched himself at night; he tried to get back to there now.

"Mmm, look at you go. If this ol' thing worked I'd put it between those pretty lips."

Opening his eyes, Tommy saw the man palming himself through his jeans, his expression hungry and dark. 

"Please stop talking," he whispered, feeling himself begin to soften just from the man's words. 

"Aww, am I distracting you, Tommy? Breaking your concentration?" The man said with a sneer in his voice.

The teasing in his tone didn't help and what little arousal Tommy had worked up withered with his erection. He looked up again with wet eyes and a flush of shame on his cheeks. "I...I can't do it, sir."

"If you want them bullets, you'll find a way to do it," the man replied with an easy shrug, as if he were suggesting an obvious answer to a math problem.

"Are you sure I don't have anything else you want for them?" Tommy asked, knowing it was useless but still hoping anyway.

"Not unless you wanna come over here and let me try my hand at it."

The frown in Tommy's brow deepened and he bit his bottom lip. 

"Alright kid, I'll keep quiet. Go ahead and close your eyes and think about your little girlfriend or whatever you need to do. But get on with it."

It seemed very doubtful that he could get back to it but Tommy knew he needed to try. He wasn't going to get far without ammunition and more calories. Eyes closed tight, he began stroking himself again. Back to that day by the lake. The girl had red hair and brown eyes with freckles across her nose, she'd been wearing cutoff shorts and Tommy had wished he could've touched her legs to see if they were as smooth as they looked. 

Tuning out the heavy breathing of the man, focusing solely on his memory, Tommy imagined his hands on those long legs, remembered the way she had giggled that day. For someone with a little more experience, it wouldn't have been enough to get off, but it was more than enough for him and Tommy managed to come, whimpering softly as he spilled into his free hand, his brow furrowed in concentration. 

He stayed still for a minute, eyes closed, feeling his cock go soft in one hand and his release cool in the other, wishing that the man wouldn't be there when he opened his eyes again. 

"Well done, little Tommy, well done indeed." The man's voice was a little breathless and Tommy refused to raise his eyes when he did open them. "You did good, kiddo, you earned your prize."

Stubbornly refusing to look up, Tommy wiped his hand on the doily covering the chair's arm and stuffed himself back into his pants. He grabbed the bullets and Cliff bars, shoving them into his bag before the man changed his mind. 

"Relax boy, I said you earned it," the man shook his head and stood up, stretching leisurely. "Well, I'm off to get some shut eye. You get lonely out here you can always come keep me company."

~~~

The prospect of taking his bag and putting as many miles between himself and this house was appealing, but Tommy wasn't an idiot. He was exhausted and knew he needed a few hours of sleep at least or he wasn't going to get far. And the possibility of sleeping in a bed for the first time since leaving the cabin was too good to pass up. 

Shouldering his bag, he went upstairs to find a place to sleep, sighing in relief when he found the spare room held a futon. It was better than he could have hoped for. 

The door locked but Tommy pulled the oak dresser in the room in front of the door just to be sure. He didn't want to risk z's or the man coming in while he slept.

He was asleep before his head hit the pillow, physically exhausted from the day and mentally from his experience downstairs.

The sound of birds singing outside woke him up the next morning and Tommy lay still, listening for any movement in the house. 

When he was certain it was empty, he got up and removed the barricade on his door. The house was indeed empty, the man having left at some point while Tommy had slept. He took a look around, since he hadn't gotten the chance the previous night, combing through the kitchen without much expectation. 

In the pantry were four cans of Spaghetti O's and a sleeve of saltines. 

Surely the man hadn't left these for him. And yet there they were, in a pantry that was otherwise picked clean, not even a box of baking soda left, sitting right in the middle of the shelf at eye level. 

Tommy looked around, expecting the man to step out from around the corner with that same filthy grin and make some new bargain for the food. But he never came; the house was empty and the food was there for the taking. 

Snatching the cans and crackers off the shelf like he was on a time limit, Tommy put three of them in his bag but opened the fourth, eating the Spaghetti O's right out of the can over the sink, following it with half a canteen of water. The house had one of those stand-up water coolers like the ranger's office back home had had. He drank from it until his stomach felt overly full and tight, then filled his canteen to the brim. There was no knowing when he might find fresh water again.

Outside was hot and balmy, no trace of the man, just a couple z's shuffling his way. 

"Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two," he counted out loud as he took them out with his rifle. It was a long way from ten thousand, but Papa had said it was good to have goals. And this goal would give him something to focus on rather than think about the man's heavy breathing and his own shame.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, more to come


End file.
